Category Archives: human stories

Last summer, when I visited a museum and saw Vincent Van Gogh’s painting Women Crossing the Fields for the first time in person, I felt a tug of recognition. It wasn’t just that I had previously seen reproductions of this work, but I felt I had seen it in life itself. It took me a […]

My favorite daily “indulgence” is not really very extravagant; I call it my faux chai tea, which is actually spiced-up green with skimmed milk to provide the latte. It’s pretty healthy and not much of a luxury, except in the sense that it is rich with memory and meaning. It feels to me as though I’m […]

I’ve been quiet lately–since about Thanksgiving, actually, and have been wondering why I don’t seem to have a writing voice. It happens to writers far more prolific and skilled than I, so I haven’t worried much about it, thinking the shorter days had brought a time of gathering, of rumination. So yesterday I was a […]

I’m a sucker for a story about renewal. In her New York Times best-selling memoir, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail, Cheryl Strayed takes us along on a monumental journey, both physical and metaphorical. At age 26, she is trying to find her way. Her father left when she was six; […]

. . . We can sit still, keep silent, let the phoebe, the sycamore, the river, the stone call themselves by whatever they call themselves, their own sounds, their own silence, and thus may know for a moment the nearness of the world, its vastness . . . –Wendell Berry, from his poem “Words” […]

The smell of Dove soap can evoke memories of my maternal grandmother, even though she died fifty years ago when I was in first grade. When I see a red rose bush, I think of her garden, and the taste of rainbow sherbet reminds me of her gentle kindness. Two of her former possessions grace […]

A century ago, John Muir asserted that “going to the mountain is going home” and that “wildness is necessity” for “tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people.” And doesn’t that last phrase describe us all even more now than then? When I was growing up in the Texas hill country, the words most often repeated at graveside funeral […]